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HARLEM
A newspaper clip that sits against a stained wall in the bad part of town under weak light reads "Joseph Smith, Jr. was born on March 3rd, 1959 to Joseph Smith, a boxer in the local circuit and his wife Elizabeth. The baby was 4lbs, 1oz."
Pulling back to inspect the wall of the dilapidated apartment reveals cracked paint, mold stains, a sheetless mattress at the base of the wall, and a collage of pictures about an infant, several of which include pictures of him hooked up to tubes of all sorts.
NEW YORK CITY SUBWAY
Despite not hiding his identity as Captain America, Steve hasn't the desire to be thrust out in the public eye. He never really wanted to be all the things that came with being Captain America. He really just wanted to help.
At first he never carried any equipment when he wasn't at work. Lately, however, it's dawned on him that it's not 1935 anymore. The city is a lot more dangerous than when he used to bop around as a teenager. He still wants to help.
And so he carries his art bag with him with many of his cartooning supplies. In addition to large strips of paper, it also houses his shield.
Steve pulls the large, wide canvas bag along with him and sets it between his legs as he takes a seat. The train begins to pull away.
*
Dressed for work — assessing property damage is one of her many jobs — Jack Pace is all business today. Her black, short-sleeved dress, cropped jacket, and kitten heels speak BUSINESS professional. But they really don't allow for easy access on the train.
"Excuse me! Pardon me! I just need to — " a female voice calls through the passenger train as Jack slides between bodies on the train. She manages a flicker of a smile for each of the people she weaves between. "I just need to be a bit more — " she holds onto one of the railings. The train lurches forward, and knocks the woman off her feet.
Balance has never been Jack's strong suit.
*
"Pardon me, ma'am," Steve says as he stands up abruptly and reaches out to brace the young woman should she need it. "You can have my seat. With his feet he nudges the large square canvas bag along with him; it makes a metallic, hollow sound that is not common amongst art supplies.
Given her occupation, it is possible that Jack recognizes Steve straight away. Detectives have Jack the Ripper. Revolutionaries have the governments they intend to overthrow. And it is, perhaps, that insurance agents would recognize someone indirectly responsible for many, many dollars worth of damage.
QUEENS
TWO YEARS AGO
On the table sits a bottle of cheap scotch whiskey, a host of bills, and a brochure from a funeral home that explains the services they offer.
"
*
NEW YORK CITY SUBWAY
PRESENT
The hand at her back draws a faint pink along the apples of Jack's cheeks. "Sorry! I just — " the heels clap lightly against the train floor as she taps them, demonstrating the uselessness of her shoes. Her lips quirk with easy appreciation at the offer. "Why thank you, sir! Always nice to meet a gentleman. Not as common as you'd think in New York," she offers with a simple shrug of her shoulders.
She turns to spy Steve's face and her eyes widen considerably. "You're — " her eyebrows lift. "You! You! Weren't you responsible for the Coleman building downtown?" Her eyes roll emphatically as she still doesn't take the seat. Not yet, anyways. Evidently, she's excitable.
"Ohmygosh the damage was obscene! My boss had a field day. That glass was," she whistles sharply, "pricey! Honestly," her eyes narrow slightly and her head tilts to the side. "Mind." Her eyes turn upwards, "People probably would rather pay out the damage than lose their lives…"
*
"I, I guess I don't know. I mean, I don't really know about any of the new buildings." Pause. Boss. Expensive. What? "Should I?" The crowded subway gets more so as they make their next stop in Manhattan. Steve looks a bit worried, as if someone has just brought up a problem he had never before considered. Worried and bewildered.
At the second stop, a figure emerges from a dip in the sidewall. He wears a self-made outfit of dark green fatigues and tan padding. A metal helm covers his face. He hides between the gaps in the cars, and out of the sight from the window.
QUEENS
ONE YEAR AGO
In the trash can, a letter from the law offices of Lewis, Fitch, and Dumkovi is enfolded within the blue covering of certified mail.
"…for divorce, effective immediately. Our client requests…"
*
NEW YORK SUBWAY
PRESENT
"You're Rogers, right," Jack states rather than asks. She reaches out a hand for him to shake, evidently she's assertive if nothing else. "I'm Jack Pace. insurance adjuster with Sensure. We're a subsidiary of Oscorp," she waves a hand as if that's relatively unimportant, but it's still a detail she's chosen to share so it can't be that unimportant to her.
"Your lot does important work," no doubt. Her head cants to the side, "I have roommates that are like that." Her cheeks puff out irritably. "They go out and do heroic things to keep people safe and happy and, well, alive. And," her eyes slit, "well, have saved me on more than one occasions. People like me need people like you. Yet," her nose wrinkles, it's not that simple, is it? Whatever is? "Yet," she starts again, "someone still has to foot the bill." Her lips hitch up on one side, "There's still a physical cost. Yes, you tend to minimize the life toll, but after incidents like that, some people still… you know, struggle to live."
*
Steve's head recoils oddly as he has more and more difficulty understanding what she's going on about. "It's, uh, nice to be needed," he says blushing slightly. But then she finishes, and he thinks she might be ragging on him. It is the most interesting conversation he has had this week.
"Struggle to live?" he asks just before a loud screech of metal tearing sounds just across from Steve and Jack.
The space behind the tear flashes by in hues of green from the tiles of the tunnel, and on the in between is a terrifying looking character with a metallic mask and what look like military fatigues. In his hand, a gun, pointed at the host of people.
POP-POPPOP!
The bullets flatten themselves against Wakandan Vibranium and the Star of the Union after Steve's laser quick reflexes reached down into his art back. The three metal fragments drop impotently to the floor of the car.
People begin screaming and running towards the front of the car, including Elizabeth Smith, former wife of Joe the Boxer and former mother of their son Joey, Junior.
*
The question has Jack's lips parting to further illuminate the hero on the financial cost of life saving escapades, but is interrupted by wretched sound that echoes through the train. "Whaaa — " she reacts to the metallic mask. While some would probably start moving immediately upon observing the terrifying man in the mask, Jack gapes at him, freezing in place rather than moving.
It's fortunate that the shield blocks the bullets. Because it's not until the bullets drop from the shield that Jack reanimates. Her body trembles into action. Intuitively, she tucks her chin towards her chest and runs towards the front of the car. Her ankle wobbles, causing her to tug off her heels as she moves — the bob and weave when she'd entered the car requires her to lose them quickly to maintain some semblance of balance.
After a couple of hops to pry off the heels, she finds herself ducking next to several others. Her hands tug at those nearest her, "Get down. Close to the floor as possible!" She might not be a hero, but she does have sense and an understanding of damage.
*
The train rumbles on as people try and notify the authorities as to what's going on. Meanwhile, the man in the suit, Joe Smith, is aiming again, but the shield intercepts his arm and knocks the piece to the ground. Rather than go for it, Steve and Smith attack at each other, the latter of which pulls a blade. If Rogers had been wearing his Captain America outfit, it would be no problem. However, his plain t-shirt and jeans are not going to offer much protection from stabs or slashes.
Meanwhile, an old woman has fallen in the middle of the aisle and has been left behind. It's not clear what is wrong with her, but it could be some sort of hip issue given her age and the difficulty she is having moving her left leg.
*
The woman who has fallen in the middle of the aisle has Jack pushing herself from the floor, she runs midway to offer the woman her shoulder, and, while offering the support she can to draw the woman to the front of the car, chucks one of those left behind high heels at the blade-wielding Smith.
"Come on~" Jack coaxes the woman quietly as she tries to draw her towards the far end of the car. "You can, you caaaan, come on… we got this…" she quietly cheers the woman on, hoping that she can help the lady be safe.
*
"Oh thank you, miss!" exclaims the white haired woman with thick glasses. "You're a real hero!"
The flung shoe hits Smith in the mask—not enough to do damage but definitely enough to distract him. Steve moves in and within a moment, he breaks the villains wrist amidst a terrible scream.
SLAM SLAM SLAM
Wasting no time, Steve moves in and delivers three shots to the helmet of the foe and the former boxer is done.
Gradually, the people relax as it is clear that Smith is out cold. The train has now made a stop at the next station, but is not taking any more passengers. Instead, the police are on their way.
*
A stitch of a smile follows the woman's observation, but it is followed by a sharp shake of Jack's head. "N-no, but th-thank you," her cheeks flush crimson. "I just," her eyebrows draw together, "did what anyone else would've." She shrugs and, with a jerk of her head towards Steve, notes, "Captain America is the hero."
After she helps the woman take a seat, Jack turns on her heel back towards the Captain and the masked assailant. "Who is he? What…" her eyes rest on the mask, "…what was he doing? And why?" Because in Jack's world, assailants don't attack without motivation.
*
"I don't know," Steve says as he looks down sadly. The police arrive and Elizabeth Smith is ushered along with many of the others having no clue she was the target. There's a lot that no one knows, it seems.
"Just some freak!" exclaims a gruff gentleman with salt and pepper hair and a nice suit. "Idiots like that should be ashamed of themselves. What would their families think?"
Sometime later, Steve is walking on the tiled floor of the subway station as people are finishing up being questioned. All in all it doesn't last long, and he sees Jack, the woman he was talking to before.
"We never got to finish or talk," he says as he slides his shield back into his art bag. "We could share a cab to wherever you're going and you could tell me more about filing claims."
*
There's a curious quirk of Jack's head at the offer, and the Captain earns an ironic smile. "Really?" her eyebrows arch higher as she stifles a chuckle. "I'm not sure I have a leg to stand on after," her eyes flit towards the still parked train.
Her lips hitch up mischievously on one side and then she nods. "Alright. But only if you're actually interested," her eyebrows draw together, "Captain(?)," that is his rank, right?, "Rogers." She grins. "Most people's eyes glaze over whenever I talk about claims and policies."
*
"Why wouldn't I be interested?" Steve asks as he grabs the bag by the straps and begins to walk Jack up the stairs. "I haven't really had a conversation about anything other than crime, villainy, or war in almost 20 years," he says with a shrug. "Steve is fine, if it is just the same to you."
*
"Because most people really aren't interested in insurance," Jack says earnestly. "I have two roommates and neither of them care. Of course," her head waffles to the sides, "I suspect that may have more to do with being able to consider the odds of something happening." She points towards the train, "Chances of getting shot on a train? About 687 to 1. In New York? Well, the last few years that got bumped down to 343 to 1. And it's higher if it's dark. 234 to 1." Her lips twitch. "There's no question the world needs people like you, Cap — Steve. Crime in this city has been… a problem. But property damage? A lot higher since we saw more heroes."
"And," her head tilts to the side, "you should call me Jack."
*
Steve nods as they empty out onto the street, the sun setting on the Saturday. "Alright, Jack. So, what happens in the aftermath? Say some crook robs a bank and he battles Iceman or something and his car ends up going through the window of a building. What happens then?"
*
"Welllll," Jack falls into easy step with Steve. "First, the building whose window is busted calls their insurance company. At that moment, the claim is open. Then, the company sends out the low man on the totem pole — a member of the office drudge club — " she motions towards herself in a Vanna White-manner long before Vanna White becomes a cultural symbol " — goes out to assess the damage. From there, we assess what caused the damage, the amount of damage, and whether the policy covers it." She frowns slightly. "It's hard though because a lot of the activity you folks engage in falls under the act of god exclusion. No one could've predicted it." She emits a heavy sigh. "That means people aren't covered. And some end up incurring massive amounts of debt to cover the cost."
*
"That's no good," Steve says idly. He reaches out to hail a cab and when it comes, he opens the door for her. "I assume that to actually offer that sort of coverage you'd have to raise premiums quite a bit. How much does this sort of thing cost a building owner?"
*
"For a window?" Jack tilts her head as she ducks into the cab, "Assuming it's a window big enough for a car to be thrown through, anywhere from $1000-3000 depending on the size." Her eyebrows lift. "But it varies considerably." Her lips quirk slightly, "That kind of thing can put some owners out of business. Not the big box companies, but certainly the smaller ones."
*
"I meant, more the premium. Maybe the answer is to cover this sort of thing. The world is changing, at least that's what they tell me," Steve says as he gets in the car. "I'm headed to the Baxter Building, but we'll go wherever she needs to go first," he tells the Cabbie.
*
"The Village," she calls back towards the cabbie. "And you're right. But I think a lot of policies are slow to change." Jack clasps her hands lightly in her lap. "Ultimately, people don't want to pay the extra. Which," she actually smirks, "invites mayhem. Present company excluded." Her eyebrow quirks, "I'm ridiculously overinsured."
*
"Well, we even out. I don't think I carry any insurance currently. Aside from what they give me for medical, I mean." Steve shrugs his shoulders as he watches the buildings pass by with the Cab picking up speed. "How did you decide on insurance?"
*
"You need to have insurance! Not having insurance isn't okay!" Jack says immediately as she begins rifling through her pockets to find a card. "Here," she passes him the business card to him. Jacqueline Pace, Adjuster it reads. "Give me a call at the office and I'll make sure you get what you need. You just don't know what will happen."
Her lips twist to the side at the question. "Honestly? I'm a bit… paranoid I guess? I live with these women, and I swear one of them is made of luck and somehow the universe has to right that by raining down eternally bad luck on me." Her eyes roll emphatically at this point. "I've had more statistical impossibilities happen to me than anyone would deem — " she lifts a hand and shakes her head. "So. My insurance is based on a series of calculations I've done. You see," her lips twitch into a half smile, "I have a degree in actuarial science. Which," she rocks her hand, "is basically a degree in statistics.
"
*
Steve takes the card and inspects it with a raised eyebrow. "I'm not sure what I'd insure. I mean, I rent. I don't really own much. I have no family. I don't even have a car."
Steve chuckles to himself. He might need it, but he can't for the life of him figure out why.
*
"Life, health, insurance against getting sued," Jack hums quietly. "I know at least one famous celebrity that insured," she looks down at her chest, "not that I can tell you who. But. It's like her livelihood. So if something random," her eyebrows draw together, "happens to her," again she looks down at her chest, "then she gets a payout for that."
*
Steve looks up from the card and looks over towards Jack, "I suppose I'll give you a call and you'll be able to figure out what sort of insurance I need."
The Cabbie interrupts them as they begin driving through the Village, "Where you need t'be dropped off, lady?"
*
"Just at the Albert Chambers apartments?" Jack's neck cranes as she peeks about the world passing around them. "I was going to go into work, but the train getting held up," her head waffles. "Just was going to bank extra hours. And I need to let my dog out. I promised my roommates…"
She turns back to Steve, "And yeah, give me a call. I'll hook you up! I'm pretty good at that. I can even do a home visit. We can make sure you have renters insurance for everything you may own. Like your shield. Maybe you need shield insurance. Maybe." Pause. "Then again, maybe not. That thing is amazing strong."
*
"Sure, maybe insurance is something I really need. I've been told the shield is one of a kind, so I'm not sure there's a monetary value on it. But, I suppose that's your expertise and not mine."
The car pulls up to the apartment building and Steve quickly realizes he needs to get out first lest she have to get out in the road. He opens the door and walks out onto the sidewalk, holding it open for her. "Thanks for all the information, Jack."
*
"It was good meeting you, Steve," Jack says with a smile as she steps out of the cab. "My pleasure. I'm always keen to share things I love." She shrugs. She draws some bills out of her jacket pocket and hands them to the cabbie. "Insurance is one of them. For better or worse."
"Uh. And thanks for saving us on the train. And stuff." Always eloquent. With that she steps towards the building.
*
"Bye," Steve says after she steps into the building. He pulls back into the car and closes the door and wonders what it is like to have a normal life.